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“Well, I’m a shrewd negotiator. I learned that from my father.”
“And this is what you really want?” he asks, his expression tortured. “You’re absolutely sure of it?”
“You don’t have to ask me that. You already know the answer.”
“Then pull down your panties and spread your legs. I’m hungry.”
ON YOUR KNEES
GABRIEL
Brooke gives me a deer-in-headlights look that almost makes me reconsider what I’m about to do, but ever so slowly, she obeys, pulling her panties down her creamy thighs.
Last night, I was out of my mind, ripping her panties off and clinging to the prospect that maybe I could somehow make this better for her.
But it’s so clearly more than that.
She isn’t running from what happened to her at that club. She’s horny, so deep in lust that all she can think about is getting fucked by her teenage crush.
Which is me.
That bargain we made, and sinfully so, feels all kinds of wrong, but that doesn’t mean it’s not what she needs. What we both need, to be honest, because now that she’s in my possession, I feel like I’ll fucking die without her.
I had such a hard time seeing her as a woman, or rather, it was far too easy for me to, and that got to me. My brain was a battle zone, and every lustful thought felt sinister.
But with Brooke, clearly, there is no war. She knows what she wants, and she’s forced my brain to raise its white flag, making peace with what I’m about to do.
Which is get dirty.
She sits again, looking anxiously down at her toiling hands. I don’t like her nervous. I want no part of stealing someone’s ‘innocence’.
But babying her would be a mistake.
I get up and circle the table so that I’m right in front of her. Then, I drop to my knees.
“Do you enjoy having your pussy eaten?” I ask, letting the crass words roll off my tongue because they feel so damn good.
“I’ve…I’ve never had it done to me before.”
Some base part of me relishes that I get to be the very first man to ever taste her cum. It took everything I had not to lick my fingers clean last night, but I stopped myself because it felt so wrong. Like a sin.
But if I have to be a sinner to do what I’m about to do, so be it.
I place my hands on her thighs and spread them wide, never taking my eyes from her baby blues, which are widening at the prospect of what I’m about to do.
“Do you touch yourself?”
“Hardly.”
That was obvious to me last night, but I wanted to hear it from her.
“Pull up your shirt. I wanna see your tits.”
She complies, moving slowly, but I see a flicker of longing in my eyes that assures me I’m not overstepping.
“Do you want me to lick you out?”
Her cheeks redden. My words make her uncomfortable, which feeds a predatory drive in me. I’m scared of how much I want to corrupt her. How I want to take the once innocent, sweet ballerina and turn her into an obscene toy meant only for my pleasure.
